


Older, Plainer, Saner

by Lady_Michiru



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Bad Decisions, Casual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Headcanon, Het Sex, I am so sorry, I owe you the descriptive smut, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, Smoking, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Yuto being an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 18:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11995401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Michiru/pseuds/Lady_Michiru
Summary: There are things that Yuto refuses to accept, even if they hurt him, and his unit, and some (not so) innocent bystanders.Maybe it's time for him to finally grow up.





	Older, Plainer, Saner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesecretdoor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretdoor/gifts).



> Dear Recipient-san. I am very sorry about this OTL.  
> Thanks A LOT to Holly, for trying to force fic out of me, and to Sheryl, for holding my hand and giving me support, and to every one of my cheerleaders.
> 
> Title stolen from LP's song Lost on You. DAMN good song, very YutoYamaish XD

The harsh words of his manager are still ringing on Yuto’s ears as he makes his way through the hallway, from the changing room. He is late. At least Kobayashi-san could have done with a shorter lecture this time, Yuto thinks. This close to the beginning of the shows they need all the time they can get for practice. A manager should know things like that.

True, they have some time left before the tour kicks off. But there are still some changes in the choreographies that a couple of them haven’t been able to master, not totally －and he shouldn’t be the one pointing fingers at anyone, not in his current situation; but Inoo could be trying harder and screwing up less, and maybe then Hikaru wouldn’t be acting as so much of a neurotic ass and getting into everybody’s nerves.

Then again, Yuto has no saying about other’s people’s screw-ups. Not today. “Not ever,” he reminds himself. He is trying. He really is.

Maybe he was lucky that stupid tabloid caught him this far along the game. A month earlier and he might have been mostly cut off MCs and pushed to the back row of all the dance formations. Like that would be a new thing. But anyway. He’s supposed to have gotten over all that.

There’s a lot of shit he's supposed to have gotten over.

***

Yamada was Yuto’s best mistake. His first one. A masterwork of heat, bad decisions and adolescence.

Yuto was fourteen. Hormones happened. Yamada’s warmth happened.

Yamada’s lips were soft and hesitant, and strawberry-flavored lip balm made them sweet and sleek. So irresistible.

It was hormones-fueled pleasure, Yuto knew it. He was sure of it.

Yuto wasn’t gay.

But it was just impossible not to lose control as Yamada’s hands fumbled with the waist of Yuto’s pajama pants, Yuto’s own hands exploring the intoxicating heat of Yamada’s fevered skin. They were shaking, both of them. Under the rumpled blankets of an unfamiliar hotel bed. Such a long way from home.

It was the middle of the tour. Things were bound to happen. Stress made these kinds of situations normal. Yuto knew. Kamenashi-kun had tried to keep him from hearing those conversations when both of them hung out with older senpai, but Yuto knew. 

Yamada’s musky scent teased every inch of Yuto’s being that Yamada’s body wasn’t scorching with the maddening heat of slow friction. Yamada’s low moans branded themselves like a hot iron right to Yuto’s brain, while the deep roll of Yamada’s hips ripped faltering gasps off Yuto’s lungs.

Yuto was gone in the blink of an eye, too much pleasure/pressure inside him, and the world all around him swirling in chaos and slow-mo.

Afterwards, showered and clean and on his own bed, he panicked about what had just happened, Yamada’s deep sleeping breath as his background music.

***

The dance practice is an exercise in control, but Yuto already suspected it would be. He’s been here before, freshly out of some scandal or another. He knows how this goes.

He can deal with Hikaru’s silent judgement, and Yabu’s plain disappointment. He can even deal with Keito, and the concern Yuto feels radiating from every one of his cells every time their eyes meet in the mirror. But Yamada’s non-committal acceptance grates on Yuto’s very core.

Granted. Yuto has never been particularly good at knowing what to feel about Yamada. Not when they were young and Yamada all but banished Yuto to massive media oblivion. Not during the years of the Cold War, before Keito got them drunk and forced them to talk at Chinen’s birthday.

Not even now, during this truce, precarious and awkward and endless; with its bottomless voids and amicable magazine interviews reflecting on their past, like it’s really something they both left behind for good.

Yamada is a safe box. Inscrutable warm eyes, careful stances, neutral speech. Unscratched “everything is okay” exterior hiding unfathomable tides that Yuto isn’t able to comprehend, not quite so. That he never has been able to.

And maybe he never wanted to comprehend. Maybe all he has to do is knock and doors will open, all the secrets revealed. But what then? Blowing on embers is not a good idea when you don’t want to deal with wildfire.

And he doesn’t want to deal. Not with Yamada’s fire and warmth, and the sleek taste of strawberry-flavored lip balm.

Yuto is not gay.

***

His first time with a girl was a mess.

She wanted to sleep with someone famous.

Yuto didn’t know what he wanted, but this was what he was supposed to wish for, so...

It was difficult getting into it, difficult to concentrate and move his hands over that soft, responsive body that he didn’t really want to touch. There were curves and silky skin where his imagination had provided sharp angles and taut muscle every time he had guiltily fantasized about sex before.

She was short and pliant and warm, but her voice was too high, her legs were too smooth and her thighs too thin. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be.

Big brown eyes looked up at him with lust, her cheeks flushed, her features chiseled, and wrong, so wrong. She was beautiful, that was undeniable, but she just wasn’t…

Yuto cursed and turned her over, guided her to stand on her hands and knees and felt sick to his stomach when it worked. Her short black hair and her white, milky skin. The beauty marks were wrong and her shoulders were too narrow, but it was enough to pretend, and Yuto’s body finally responded, finally got into it and caught fire.

He pounded into her relentlessly, covered her mouth with his hand so that her high pitched moans didn’t pierce the fantasy.

When he pulled out and came on her back, it was Yamada’s back he imagined, and it burned, it hurt and it made him want to scream.

***

Chinen flops down on the floor beside him after the practice is done, and Yuto knows things got out of hand. Chinen usually leaves everybody alone. That’s, in part, why all of them like him so much; he never meddles with anybody’s businesses.

Never.

But now he is wearing a scowl, and he looks focused as hell when Yuto risks a side look at him.

“We need to talk,” Chinen begins, without even glancing in Yuto’s direction. He sounds as he does at concerts, like he has rehearsed this in his head at least twice before actually speaking. “It’s about Ryosuke.”

“What about him?” Yuto is genuinely intrigued now.

He expected Chinen’s version of a lecture about Yuto and Masaki’s scandal; a mélange of all the reprimands his managers and some members of the group have inflicted upon Yuto every time he messed up and got it in print for the world to judge; a speech about teamwork; an invitation to hold hands and sing Kumbaya by the fire. Anything but Yamada.

Chinen doesn’t know about way back then. About after-concert escapades and shared hotel rooms. About Yamada missing home, and Yuto being weak, and warmth-sharing mixing up with body-awakening, sizzling blood and humid nights. About friction, and Yamada’s mouth on Yuto’s skin, and biting marks on Yamada’s shoulder after hand-brought orgasms.

Nobody knows. Not for certain, at least.

“You need to stop hurting Ryosuke because you can’t have him.”

Yuto’s first instinct is to laugh, pure self-defense kicking in automatically. But Chinen’s intensity drags him to mild anger a split second later.

“You don’t have any fucking idea of what you’re talking about.” Yuto snaps in a hiss, but Chinen hardly blinks. Like he is somehow expecting that answer. Like he knows something.

Maybe Yuto was right, maybe Yamada does have a crush on Suda and Chinen knows about it. Maybe Yamada’s aloofness is as much bullshit as Yuto’s unawareness. But it doesn’t add up, and Chinen’s face is an unresolved puzzle. And everything just riles up Yuto more and more. He just _hates_ being left out of the loop, more-so when the loop is his own life.

“What did Yamada tell you?” Yuto asks when he can’t stand Chinen’s sententious stare and his lack of words anymore.

“Nothing. He is a stubborn idiot who won’t talk about things, same as you.” Chinen sighs. He looks tired. “The only difference is that Ryosuke is afraid to hurt you. And you’re just a coward.”

“Are you sure Yamada didn’t send you?” Yuto is seething. “Because you sound awfully like you’re on his side.”

“There are no sides on this, Yuto-idiot!” And that’s so Chinen-like that Yuto feels like laughing in rage, because he just can’t loathe the guy they’ve all been pampering almost half of their lives.

And maybe it’s a really good thing that Chinen doesn’t butt in any of their business. He is just too damn powerful.

“You like each other,” Chinen goes on, not even flinching, like he is talking about the fucking weather and not messing with Yuto’s worst anxieties. “Why don’t you do something about it and stop hurting each other and all the members of our unit with your stupid games?”

Yuto is getting more and more pissed off each second, because Chinen is a damn ice cube devoid of romantic feelings, and he probably doesn’t like anybody that way and never has. Because maybe Yuto is kind of envious of that.

Besides, Chinen has no idea what he’s talking about. It’s not even the point if Yamada likes him, or Masaki, or even Chinen for that matter.

“I’m not gay!” Yuto howls.

Because he isn’t. He doesn’t want to be.

“And what the heck does that have to do with anything?!” Chinen sounds bewildered, and Yuto is so confused he feels it physically, as a budding headache pulsing on his left temple.

“It has everything to do with it!” Yuto’s voice sounds as deflated as everything feels inside him. 

He is lost amidst the collapsing barriers, and the repressed feelings he has managed to keep at bay for so long. Everything is surging up and jumbling every carefully constructed defense Yuto ever had in place.

It’s been months since he craved a cigarette this badly.

And Chinen. Uncaring. Puzzled. Stupid, unfazed Chinen refusing to censor or condemn. Like being in love with your once best friend and then fleeing in panic isn’t such a big deal. Demanding for Yuto to fix something he has spent so many years trying to claw off his soul he doesn’t know how to address anymore. Damn Chinen and his not-having-a-clue. Damn everything.

Chinen huffs, and stands up effortlessly, but Yuto is still a trembling mess on the floor and doesn’t follow suit. He doesn’t look up at Chinen looming form, not even when a crumpled cigarette pack hits Yuto on the head.

“Stop screwing us all up because you’re afraid of a label. You idiot.” Chinen grunts as he leaves.

Yuto reaches for the cigarettes, and shoves them in the pocket of his sweatpants after a quick look. They are the brand Yamada smokes.

***

Suda Masaki’s loud laughter filled the almost non-existing empty space above the music, the smoke and the laser lightning of the VIP area of some Ginza club. Shady, as all of Suda’s best picks. Just another Saturday, Yuto supposed.

It made Yuto giggle through his fifth vodka tonic, or was it his sixth? He couldn’t quite remember. His brain was fuzzy, fluffy. Incapable of synapses. Incapable of longing. It was perfect. Every time. Even if today they had arrived, inadvertently, at Yuto’s most dreaded subject.

Yamada.

And Suda was so full of it. Half-truths wrapped up in mirth, always not quite joking about everything. It made Yuto think of himself sometimes. Denying the undeniable.

“Don’t bullshit me,” Yuto half-chuckled. It was difficult to focus enough to form words, but he was willing to try. “ I _saw_ you flirting. It was morning TV.”

“Did you?” Suda teased, his eyes turning unreadable as he flashed his flirtiest smile in Yuto’s direction. “Some would argue the same about you.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Yuto reminded him. Because Suda needed to focus.

It was Yamada. Everything was about him. Whether Yuto wanted it or not. All of his life, every heartbeat, from the fateful day they met. Always.

And Yuto needed to know.

He had the hunch Yamada had been harboring a secret crush on Suda since they worked together. And he needed to know if it was just that. The doubt had consumed his mind from long ago. He needed to know.

“I’m not telling,” Suda whispered into his glass, his eyes mischievously staring into Yuto’s soul.

And Yuto wanted nothing but to bite that self-satisfied smile off those perfect, perfect lips. 

So he did. Raw and frustrated. Alcohol drowning every second-thought, drowning Yuto’s brain altogether.

It grew. Yuto’s body ablaze with lustful aggression, and Suda kissing him back. Responding bit by bit. An obnoxious grin radiating from Suda’s intoxicated self and feeding Yuto’s hunger as much as his stubborn silence had.

Yuto was sure Suda hadn’t kissed Yamada. He was sure that he had. He was lost in doubt and certainty, unsure of which possibility excited him the most, which one hurt him deeper. Unsure if he was taking something Yamada had lost or something that Yamada wanted.

And he felt so good about it, it was sick.

Suda’s body wasn’t soft. His movements were calculated and precise as he backed Yuto down to the bathroom. His hand almost cruel as he wrapped it around Yuto’s flesh, hot and aching by then.

Yuto bit onto his knuckle to muffle his moans, and got to his knees a second later, to stop himself from asking all the questions he did want to ask. “How does Yamada call you? How does he touch you? Is he as good as I am?” Yamada in every random thought his disconnected mind was able to articulate. Yamada in every molecule of air he managed to get into his lungs. Yamada, always Yamada.

He fucked Suda up the bathroom-stall wall. Hard and quick, punishing Suda as well as himself for surrendering to such basic instincts. Clawing at Suda's skin when he came, deeply buried into him. Marking Suda’s body with the despise of his own self-hatred.

The paparazzi caught them on the street outside the club, being too drunk and too loud. Yuto knows it could have been worse, but he just can’t feel anything about it.

***

“So…” Yuto begins, sitting at Yamada’s old and comfy sofa. The entire apartment smells of cleaning products and there isn’t a single speck of dust floating on the dusk-illuminated air.

Neurotic clean. Typical Yamada.

“So…” Yamada echoes, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Yuto feels. “You came all the way here to hand me back this?” He looks at the two remaining smokes in the pack as if they have the answer to every one of Yuto’s stupid actions, including this sudden visit.

“Chinen,” Yuto says, by means of explanation. He wants to slap himself immediately afterward.

“Oh…” Yamada articulates, with hardly any sound. And somehow he seems to understand. If there’s anything that makes sense in this situation.

“Can I have one?” Yuto asks, then, because silence and having nothing to occupy his hands with is the worst combination right now.

It still takes him by surprise when Yamada nods.

The flavor is different from Yuto’s regular brand, but Yuto’s over stimulated system welcomes it anyway. He tries to focus in the smoke burning his lungs instead of thinking how nicotine will taste off Yamada’s tongue. Yamada hadn’t started smoking the last time they kissed.

Yuto could do with a glass of anything, but alcohol might be an even worse idea than coming here when nothing is settled in his mind. He takes a deep drag, and looks at Yamada across the space that separates them and the smoke.

“I’m not gay.” It comes out of Yuto’s mouth without his permission. Raw and sudden. And not true. But not a complete lie either.

“Did you come all the way here just to tell me that?” At least is a reaction. Incredulity, annoyance. They are reactions too.

Yamada’s detached facade is cracking. And maybe Yuto’s is too. Maybe he’s too old and too tired. Maybe Chinen is even right. As much as it pains Yuto to admit it.

“Do you like Masaki? Suda-kun?” Yuto blurts out. “Did something happen between you?”

“What the fuck are you high on, Yuto?” Yamada is outraged. For a heartbeat, Yuto is sure he’s going to make him leave.

“I need to know…” Yuto glues his eyes to the fancy ashtray on the coffee table. He can’t muster the courage to look at Yamada, not now. So he stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray and waits.

“No… to both questions,” Yamada huffs. “Why? Did something happen between _you_ two?”

“Yes,” Yuto answers. He hates how sheepish his voice sounds, he hates that he can’t lie now when he’s always been able to.

“I thought you weren’t gay…” Yamada spits out, all venom and air.

“I’m not!” Yuto protests, but it’s feeble and worn down. He _is_ tired, so, so tired. “But... maybe I’m not straight either…”

Yamada sighs. When Yuto feels like he can do it, he drags his eyes slowly up to look at him, watches Yamada rub the bridge of his nose like he’s fighting a headache too.

“I like you,” Yuto lets out, without giving himself time to think about it, without granting himself the chance to back down.

“So you fuck Suda Masaki and discover you like me, uh?” Yamada is using his mocking voice, and Yuto knows he deserves it. Knows he hurt Yamada.

This time he doesn’t feel happy about it.

“I’m sorry…” 

“I was in love with you for such a long time,” Yamada whispers, staring into nothing. And Yuto can only think about the past tense of it.

“Are you over it now?” Yuto asks, without really knowing if he wants to hear the answer.

The silence stretches out for eternities punctuated by the painful beats of Yuto’s heart. He feels his soul tearing apart, desperate hope clawing at his core and making him bleed inside.

“Almost," Yamada says, finally. And Yuto chokes on his breath as he stares at Yamada through blurry eyes.

It’s a possibility, it may even be an invitation, even if Yamada’s smile is the tiniest bit self-deprecating when Yuto can see it clearly.

It’s a starting point.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic needs a smutty Epilogue, right?  
> Maybe I can write it after reveals... *gets whacked*


End file.
